Jo
The 500 Festival Mini Marathon is my race. It's the one that started everything. It was the first race for which I ever registered, and I did so being able to run only 300 meters. My first Indy Mini was life-changing, and I've had a love affair with the race ever since. I've had great Minis, bad Minis, and Minis I've missed due to broken legs. However, every time I've run the race, I am well aware of how blessed I am to be a part of it and of the rich importance it holds for me. This year, I wanted to run a personal record, below 1:54:19.
Wendy
A month before the Indy Mini, when Jo and I finished a 15K progression
run (a race that we used as a workout), I knew she was in fine shape. It was
then that I started to get excited about running alongside her in the Mini.
Then, as she helped me (with ease!) pace Amelia to a 2:01 debut half in
Louisville just two weeks prior to the Indy Mini, to my excitement was added pride. I
knew… KNEW… that her half PR was going DOWN at the Indy Mini.
Jo
Ed's and my hotel overlooked Washington Street, which is where the 35,000 Mini runners are corralled for a half-mile. At the very stroke of 6:00 A.M., Mini announcer Rob Powers broadcasted to downtown Indy, "3, 2, 1, MINI MARATHON!" "I Gotta Feelin'" by the Black Eyed Peas followed. I looked out the window at the dark, early Indy morning... and started crying. This was my day, at my race, with my friends, to meet my goal. I was overcome with emotion.
 |
| Before the race |
Just before the gun, the sun came out. Everyone around us was acting like this development was a great thing, but Wendy and I knew better. I wilt in the sun. All the forecasts had reported 43° and cloudy at race start. Sunny and 50° would take a little energy from me, but not enough to put the PR in jeopardy. It was a disappointment, but not a game changer. Dad leaned over the fence and reminded me to have fun. Then, Rob Powers started the countdown.
Wendy
 |
| At 5K |
The first few miles of the race went perfectly. The first mile, at 8:46, was slower than planned pace due to the crowd, but we expected that. We hit 5K in 26:50, and we were all in good spirits. Jo looked great, but we all noticed one thing: it felt hot. The temperature was somewhere in the 50°s, but the sun was unrelenting. I was sweating already, but we were consistently in the 8:26-8:30 pace range. We made fun of people wearing tights.
Jo
I ran the early miles easily, but I was worried about the approaching Indianapolis Motor Speedway. The track is where I historically implode, and I was worried about erasing all our good work. Wendy said, "We aren't thinking about the track right now. We are focusing on this mile. Eliminate this mile."
On the fourth mile, while headed north, I was bothered by the sun, and said so. The heat from it was uncomfortable, and the light in my eyes was incommodious. Shortly thereafter, Jessie moved into a position to my right and slightly ahead of me. I tapped his arm, and said, "I'm glad you're here." He replied, "I'm trying to shade you from the sun." I was instantly touched. That action was just one of the first of many selfless acts displayed by my awesome pacers.
As we entered Mile 5, a runner next to us yelled, "Hey, everyone! We are one-third done!" Before I reveal my reply, understand that in a race, my tolerance level drops as mileage and pace increase. Little things can be more irritating than they would usually be. So, I might've had a little edge to my voice when in between breaths I noted, "Four... times three... is twelve." The man replied, "Well, I rounded up." My face must've divulged my annoyance, because Wendy uttered a quote she's heard me say many times on a run: "Nothing makes her madder than bad math."
Wendy
Just before the 6 mile mark, I could tell Jo was feeling it,
and I knew that was mostly because it was hot and there was no shade. She said,
"Here it comes." She was referring to the track. I knew, going in, that the
track was a mental block for her. We had divided the race into three parts:
pre-track, track, and post-track. Pre-track was done, and now I had to keep her
together mentally throughout the track. Jessie, Becky, and I were all working
as a team. She was surrounded by support going into the track. As we entered,
she said something like, "It's going to happen. I'm going to mess it up on the
track again." I had planned to do something here, and I did it. As we entered,
I said, "No. The track is 2.5 miles. The first mile is for your dad." And I
made her cry, but I also had her focusing on something other than the track.
 |
| On the track |
When Wendy told me about running for Dad, I asked her to text him and tell him. It occurred to me that Wendy had planned this strategy in advance. It made me want Mile 7 instead of dreading it.
To enter the IMS, runners have to go under the track. The path is shaped like a V: down steeply, then up steeply, but briefly in both cases. Our plan was to jog slowly up the incline to conserve energy, so it made sense to me to attack the downhill, both to build momentum and to average time. I said to my friends, "Bomb it?" meaning, "Do you want me to bomb the downhill?" Wendy and Becky both said, "What? Vomit?!" It gave us all a laugh.
Wendy
 |
| Brickyard |
Jo
"What is happening?!" I asked Wendy. I tried to accelerate, but there wasn't much in my legs. "It's OK," Wendy said. I said OK, but I really thought it was all lost then. Five miles, the length of our daily run, seemed like an impossible distance, and I was incredibly discouraged. Becky said, "The worst is behind us," to which I snapped, "You don't know what you're talking about." All I could see was 4-point-something miles of utter pain. I felt blisters on the bottoms of my feet. I felt fatigue everywhere. How and why was this happening?
Wendy
As we exited, Jo looked bad. Her head was down, her
shoulders were slumped, and she said, "I'm messing it up again. I'm not even
going to PR." I told her, "We are off the track now. We are starting all over." I knew her fitness was there. She just had to shake off the mental bear that
was on her back. She didn't seem enthused by that statement. We hit mile 9 at
9:03—we were slowing down. So I thought for a second about what I could do to
help her. The physical ability was there, I knew that for sure, but how to come
back from this mental defeat? Then I remembered… what do I do when I feel like
I'm dying in a race? How do I come back to hold pace or even accelerate? Two
words: I fartlek. (Jo here: Fartlek is a Swedish term for speed play.)
I told Jo, "I'm going to speed up gradually, and you're
coming with me." She did. Then I gave her a little rest. We slowed down. Becky
and Jessie were right there with us, so she was completely surrounded by people
who knew she could do this. I kept telling her that we were going to make up
the time we lost on the track; this race was STILL HERS, and it was not over. I
would choose a landmark and say, "We are running hard from here to there, then
you can rest." And she did it. Over and over, she surged. Our pace fell. It was
working, and she told me so. Mile 10 was
8:43. We were reeling this back in.
Jo
We repeated this pattern for the rest of the race, and each time, Wendy would make the "speed up" sections longer. I'd call her names, but I'd do it. It was working. The rests felt like rests, but the faster segments were keeping my pace respectable. In fact, we were passing people left and right, even as the game started to get harder.
Wendy
At the beginning of every surge, I grabbed her left hand and
pulled her up next to me. Then she stayed next to me until we got to wherever
the landmark was—a stop sign, a street name, or a stoplight. It was working. We
got near mile 11, and I kept trying to figure out what pace we had to run the
last 2.1 in order for her to PR. I couldn't do the math, so I hesitantly said, "Jo, when we get to 11, I'm going to need you to do some math."
Jo
I can't believe I had the ability to do math at that point.
Jo
I can't believe I had the ability to do math at that point.
Wendy
We got there, to 11, with a split of 8:37. As an exercise in
futility, I tried to do the calculations aloud. "Shut up," she said. Good,
that meant she was doing math in her head. "8:45," she whispered. Okay. We
needed two 8:45s and we had a PR. I kept telling her to keep it together
mentally, and that we could do ANYTHING for two miles. We continued to fartlek,
and people (runners and spectators) went on about how inspirational it was to
see me pulling her up next to me at the beginning of the fartlek section.
Jo
Wendy turned to face me and said, "I will NOT let you NOT do this! You have worked too hard! RUN!" That was the end of the twelfth mile.
Wendy
We hit 12 at 8:36—still speeding up. "One more," I told her. "No!" she said, "1.1!" She hates bad math.
I told her that her rest sections were going to be shorter now. Becky and I were on either side of her, and Jessie in front. We were her human shield.
Jo
Jessie, Becky, and Wendy kept encouraging statements flowing, telling me that I was maintaining PR pace, that I was stronger than I thought, that I was almost done.
I told her that her rest sections were going to be shorter now. Becky and I were on either side of her, and Jessie in front. We were her human shield.
Jo
Jessie, Becky, and Wendy kept encouraging statements flowing, telling me that I was maintaining PR pace, that I was stronger than I thought, that I was almost done.
 |
| Victory Mile |
I pulled her up with my hand. She asked me to not let go, so I didn’t.
Jo
I put my hand in hers, but this time, I didn't let go.
Wendy
I can't remember everything we were saying to her, but we
all knew she was going to do it. I pulled on her a little, but mostly she was
just right there next to me. I kept trying to force my energy into her through
my hand. I was not going to not let her do this. Her face was the picture of
pain, and I remember telling her the pain would get no worse from here—it would
just last longer if we slowed down. At approximately 12.3 or so, I told her she
could have a five-second slow down break if she wanted. "No," she said. She didn't
want a break. "Okay," I said, "let's finish this."
 |
| Near the finish |
Through stilted grunts, I tried to communicate that my husband and parents were spectating nearby. Wendy told me how proud they were going to be when they saw me. I ran faster. At Mile Marker 13, there they were. I tried to wave but my arm wouldn't work. I squeezed Wendy's hand, and she guided me to the finish line.
Wendy
Jo and I hand-in-hand, Becky and Jessie on
either side rooting her on, we ran the last 1.1 miles in 8:06—the fastest we
had run all day. We saw Jo's parents and husband in the grandstands. She was
unable to wave, so the rest of us did it for her. We crossed the line, and her
time read 1:53:35… PR!
Jo
A PR by a mere 44 seconds. Here are results and stats 'n' such. |
| All done! |
She kind of collapsed (we've been through this before so I wasn't too alarmed), but after sitting in a wheelchair a few minutes she was able to walk. I WAS SO PROUD.
Jo
Have you ever seen one of those animals where you pinch the sides, and the little guy collapses, then bounces right back to perfect posture? One of these? That was a precise description of me at the finish line. I took a few careful steps, and then I experienced complete muscle failure. Wobbly, jelly legs would not support me.
After a rest, we entered Military Park and united with our families. They congratulated all of us. We took more pictures. We rehashed the funny quotes and moments of the race. Finally, one by one, we each departed to our hotels or vehicles, and it was just another day.
 |
| World's Greatest Pacers and Friends |
Wendy
I have run many, many miles with Jo. I know that she is full
of running potential and talent. And I knew that if she shut down mentally, she
wouldn't meet her goal. It is my hope that I (and the others), showed her that
she is capable of pushing through levels of fatigue and pain she never felt
possible. She is a very talented runner, and pacing her in this race is one of
the best running experiences I've ever had. Watching someone bust through a
barrier like that is hard to match, especially when that person is your best
friend. I can't wait to pace her again at Monumental—marathons are in my
wheelhouse. :-)
Jo
There's a lot in Wendy's wheelhouse. :-)
 |
| <3 |
